Page 17 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

“Oh, great godspawn, have mercy upon me,” I plead to the noble creature.

Warm hands suddenly close over my biceps, Vesper urging me to my feet. She laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes my deadened heart stutter. “We don’t kneel to pets in this house, Big Guy,” she explains, her thumb tracing my arm, squeezing ever so slightly. I must learn why, but first…

“Pet?” I blink, curious over the hidden term as I only know of the “caressing” kind.

She nods, standing on her tiptoes. I lower my head, and she kisses my cheek, then bends over to pick up the feline by the scruff. “Come here, Ozzy.” The cat instantly crawls over my summoner’s shoulders and balances in a precarious, yet masterful perch. “Pets are animals we keep on our land or home, simply because they bring us joy. They’re like offspring.” She gestures to Bethie. “But most have fur.”

“Do I worship you alone, then?”

She pauses, her lips parting, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, you can worship me anytime you want, Valefar. But let’s keep that to intimate, private times. Oh, but kisses always permitted. And the occasional ass grab.”

I grin. “Duly noted.”

“Occasional,” she reminds me, winking.

The little sphinx rubs her cheek. “Ozzy is its name?” I wonder, staring at the furry offspring.

“Named after Ozzy Osbourne.” She scratches his cheek. He purrs heartily. “Ozzy was the name of the Prince of Darkness, pioneer of heavy metal.” She leans over the counter, and the cat descends with the kind of graceful alacrity belonging to its kind. “You can pet him whenever you want. Just know he has claws.”

At the flick of my tail, Ozzy leaps from the counter and pounces on the arrow. I flinch, startled by the offending feline, and retrieve my tail, tucking it into the crook of my arm.

I eye the tiny predator as he stalks away, his own tail flicking dismissively. “What is this heavy metal? Is it some sort of mystical metallic weaponry?”

Vesper tilts her head with a sweet smile. “I have so much to teach you.” She stretches, the slip riding up her thighs and sending another spike of heat straight to my groin. “Well, I don’t have to go to work until around noon. So we still have a few hours.”

I am entirely at her disposal, but before I can offer myself, she unbuckles the chair harness and scoops up the tiny twin, who eagerly embraces her mother. “First things first. Potty training time.”

I follow them out of the kitchen but wisely stay in the hallway as Vesper carries Bethie into the small tiled room with the porcelain water basin. I lean against the wall, listening closely to the strange domestic rituals of my Mistress.

“You’re such a good girl, yes, Bethie,” Vesper coos, her voice dipping into a playful cadence which sends a strange, pleasant shiver down my spine. The way she speaks to her offspring—with such unbridled, gentle affection—is completely foreign to the brutal, tearing screams of the Pit. I find it utterly adorable. Sweet, gurgling sounds echo from the tiny beastie.

Then, the tone shifts. “Are you sure you don’t have a poopy?” Vesper asks.

I go a little pale. A poopy? Is it a disease? A demonic parasite? Some sort of human affliction? Should I intervene?

Before I can barge in to protect my Mistress from the dreaded ‘poopy’, I hear the rush of water from the metal faucet.

“It’s fun to wash hands, yes!” Vesper cheers.

Water splashes playfully, followed by the toddler’s bright laugh. “Wash hands!” the tiny twin babbles.

When Vesper finally emerges, she is holding Bethie on her hip, shoulders lowered in relief or possibly respite. She carries the toddler to the front room, depositing her into a contraption that bounces on the floor with rattles, rubber objects, and a variety of bright, colorful toys. They make rather odd sounds.

With a press of a button, Vesper signals a large black mirror on the wall to blink to life, displaying brightly colored, overly joyful equines.

I nearly leap out of my skin. “Sorcery! Mistress, the mirror projects illusions.”

“Easy, Vale. It’s called a television. And those illusions are moving pictures, purely for child entertainment.”

My Little Pony, Vesper calls it.

I lean in, my ears pricking with curiosity. I am still trying to comprehend the strange pastel creatures on the screen when Vesper’s hand wraps tightly around my wrist. I’m a little stunned when she suddenly tugs me away from the living room, leading me straight into her bedroom and then into the adjoining bathroom for another shower.

I certainly don’t disagree.

The moment the hot water cascades over us, the domestic tranquility shatters.

“Hey, Big Guy.” She roams her hands along my torso and chest. Both bulge and flex to every touch. She squeezes my bicep again. “God, you’re so ripped.”